One
A Bombardier passenger airplane flew steadily through the night air, ice clinging to its hull like a second skin. It was owned and operated by Express Airlines, based out of Indiana. The plane was small compared to the rest of Express’s fleet, with a crew consisting only of the captain, co-pilot, navigator, and three flight attendants. The total passenger capacity tallied seventy-five, with every seat currently occupied.
A thirty-one-year-old man sat in the front row, running a hand along the back of his head and ruffling his formerly tidy brown hair. Staring down on the city below with hazel eyes, he absently stroked at his five o’clock shadow. He was dressed in pressed khaki pants, a white button-down shirt, and carried a black winter jacket in his lap.
To his left sat a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She wore black slacks with a matching black top and blazer, the dark colors contrasting with her smooth red hair and fair complexion. She wore a trim set of sunglasses, her head was nestled against the headrest, and she appeared to be asleep.
A deep voice with a pleasant Midwestern accent came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. We will be landing shortly and I ask that you please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.” The fasten seatbelt indicator obligingly lit up. “If you could, please also return your seatbacks and tray tables to their upright and locked positions. The crew and I would like to thank you for flying Express Airlines and wish you a pleasant evening.”
“I hate this part,” the man muttered to himself. He continued looking out at the specks of light glinting from the city below, and rapped his fingers restlessly against his knee. As he leaned back into the full-sized leather seat and buckled his seatbelt, he gave a long sigh. He had wanted to enjoy his first time in first class, but his fear of flying distracted him. Closing his eyes, he tried to draw up a peaceful memory, but all that came to him was the recollection of how his journey had started.
* * * * *
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
He smacked the alarm clock on his bedside table and with a groan, outstretched his arms and legs in the bed. He laid his forearm across his eyes, the prospect of another five minutes’ rest tempting him.
RING RING
He lifted his head from the pillow and listened. Had he imagined the noise?
RING RING
Realizing it was his phone, he swung his legs out of bed and stiffly stood up. He hobbled out of his bedroom and into the living room, where he was greeted by a large grey cat sitting on the cushion of his chair.
The cat looked at him expectantly. “Meow?”
RING RING
“I’ll get you a treat in a minute, Smoky,” he said, gently scratching the impatient cat's head with one hand and picking up the phone with the other.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Aaron? Aaron, it’s Sam Parker.”
“Sam?” he asked, his mind still sluggish. It took him a few moments to remember Sam from his days in military communications.
“Yeah. How are things going with you?”
“Just fine, Sam,” Aaron said, confused. Gently moving his cat with one hand, he sat down. Smoky took the opportunity to leap onto his lap and lie down.
“Good, good. Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Oh? Could it have waited until seven at night and not seven in the morning?” he asked. An unsettling sigh came from the telephone. Aaron furrowed his brow, bracing himself. “It’s alright, Sam, I had to get up anyway for school.”
“Yeah, the time difference is my fault, sorry. Have you gone back to school?”
“No, I teach high school computer classes now.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. Is there anything else I should know and pass along?” he asked in mock interest.
“Sam, why are you calling?”
“There's something you need to know.”
“What’s happened?” Aaron asked, sitting upright. Smoky jumped off and sauntered toward his food dish.
“It’s Jordan. He's passed away,” Sam said, a heaviness in his voice.
“Passed away? He’s dead?”
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.”
“When did this happen? How did he die?”
“It was a car accident. Looked like Jordan was racing someone when he took a corner too sharply. He collided with a guardrail that gave way to a sheer cliff.”
“Oh, God,” Aaron replied, putting a hand to his mouth. “Did they find the other driver?”
“They found a second set of tire tracks, but no car. No one has come forward.”
“When is the funeral?” asked Aaron.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “There’s already been one, Aaron. Jordan died almost a year ago.”
Aaron’s chest burned. “Why did no one tell me?” he snarled.
“We weren't the ones who planned the funeral. The guys and I were making plans to meet up in his hometown for a couple drinks when your name came up. We realized no one remembered seeing you at the funeral.” Aaron leaned back in his chair, flabbergasted. “It isn’t going to be anything formal, just a night of reminiscing over a couple beers. A little memorial service in his honor.”
Yeah, I remember the last time you had a few drinks, Aaron thought darkly. “Jordan saved my life. How could no one have thought to tell me?” he asked.
“He saved all of our lives, Aaron. Maybe if you had kept in touch…”
Aaron sat unmoving and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to turn this on you,” Aaron finally said, squeezing the phone tightly, his free hand balling into a fist. “Where is the memorial service being held?” He didn’t bother to hide the sharp edge in his voice.
“The Loyalist Hotel, outside of Toronto. We've already booked a bunch of rooms. At least we're getting a group rate!” Sam chuckled, trying to bring some levity to the conversation. When Aaron said nothing, Sam cleared his throat. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
Aaron slowly reached for the notepad and pen he always kept by the phone, his hands shaking. “Yes. What’s the address and date?”
Sam provided an address in a city called Hamilton. The date for the informal memorial was set for two weeks to the day. Aaron hung up and walked to his computer, where he logged onto the rewards section for his credit card. Several flights were leaving in the two-week mark, but one left the day before the memorial. He wanted to miss as little school as possible, so he quickly reserved a seat by the window—one of the only two seats left on the flight. Logging off the computer, Aaron muttered to himself that this was one of the few times he wished he had a car.
* * * * *
Sitting on the plane, Aaron again rubbed the scruff on his chin. The aircraft vibrated as it descended, and his ears popped in protest. His stomach began to churn, and as he reached for an air sickness bag in front of the red-haired woman, he inadvertently grazed her knee. “Excuse me,” he said half-heartedly, his attention focused primarily on keeping the contents of his stomach in his stomach.
The woman continued to sit silently next to him, her head still on the headrest. Has she moved at all? Aaron thought he recognized her from somewhere. He allowed himself to steal fleeting glances at her; the more he looked, the more he was sure he had seen her before.
He rubbed the back of his head again, where a headache flared in rhythm with his heartbeat. He couldn’t recall when the pain had begun.
He glanced again at the woman. She had a fair complexion, which the onboard lighting skewed into a pale, lifeless look. Pretty cute for a dead woman, he thought. Ugh, don’t be a pig. The ghost of a smile appeared on her face. He was about to let out a sigh of relief that she was in fact alive when the plane dropped.
He grabbed the arm rests at his sides, clenching his eyes shut as his breathing became fast and fierce. Aaron’s heart threatened to leap from his chest; his head continued to throb defiantly. The Bombardier righted itself as gasps and cries of shock filled the cabin. After a few moments, he was able to bring his breathing under control. Aaron looked down to see that he was holding the red-haired woman’s hand. “May I have my hand back?” she asked in a low, throaty voice. A half smile spread over her lips. Aaron looked up at her. He let go of her hand, his now aching slightly from squeezing so hard. She simply wrapped her hands together and neatly laid them in her lap and gazed straight in front of her. He followed her eyes, but saw nothing but the seatbacks in front of them.
“Sorry about that,” Aaron said, shuffling in his seat. “I’m not a fan of flying.”
“I noticed.”
“Were you in Indiana on business?” he asked, noting her business casual outfit.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s good. I guess.” Aaron looked out the window at the lights below, which were now growing larger. “I’m headed off to a memorial for a friend. Heck, I didn't even know he had died.”
“Not a close friend then.”
Aaron laughed. “He was arrogant, reckless, and a show-off. But damn it if he didn't have the skills to back it up. His name was Jordan Ness, and he was a good friend.” He shook his head and she looked toward him, her gaze not quite reaching his. “I found out from one of the guys who was stationed with me that Jordan had died a year ago.”
“Why did they not tell you sooner?”
“That's something of a long story,” he said with a sigh. “I used to work for a company that built communications networks. Our company had bid on, and won, an infrastructure project in Afghanistan. We were a civilian outfit, completely separate from the military. My team and I were assigned a group of soldiers to protect us when we had to set up equipment in the field. These guys weren't interested in 'babysitting' us; they wanted to shoot and blow things up.” Aaron leaned toward the red-haired woman.
She said nothing, so he continued, “This one night, they managed to get a hold of a cooler of booze and decided to have themselves a little party. One of them got a bit rowdy, Private Sam Parker. He tried to pick a fight with one of my team members, I stepped in, and we got into it. I surprised him by getting a few good shots in when he pulled a gun on me. In a flash, this guy comes out of nowhere and in this Bruce Lee–like move, he removed Parker’s weapon and had him on the ground. He had his foot pressed to Sam’s throat. That was Jordan.” He chuckled. “I know there's still ill will toward me over that. I think that's why they didn't call.”
“So he saved your life,” she stated.
“That was the first time,” Aaron said. “He was their commanding officer, and normally pretty relaxed when it came to command decisions. He did tell his unit to lay off us, but when the fight broke out, Jordan ended it. Things settled down for about a month, when this one day, we were doing a job in a recently cleared area. Jordan got a call that we needed to bug out, so we jumped into their military transport truck, thinking we'd be safe. Well, our vehicle ran over an IED, an improvised explosive device.”
Tiny street lights and vehicles were now visible in the city below, and Aaron glanced down at them.
“I got a nasty concussion, so I don't recall much. I do remember Jordan pulling me out and carrying me to safety. I also remember him pulling out my team and the soldiers from the burning wreck. He was carrying two at a time and moving insanely fast,” Aaron stated, rubbing his forehead.
“What is wrong with that?”
“Well, when you have to carry dead weight, it’s easier to pull a body or sling it over your shoulder. I’ve never seen someone carry two men at a time and move at the speed he was going. It was... inhuman.”
“Adrenaline?”
“Yeah, that’s the conclusion I came to, because what other explanation could there be? I’m just thankful to be alive. I left that job, and life, shortly after I was cleared by the doctors. The pay was great, but if you’re not alive to enjoy it, then what’s the point?” He shrugged his shoulders.
A moment passed, and then the red-haired woman asked, “What happened to your friend Jordan after you left?”
Aaron looked out the window. “I guess he went home. I thanked him for what he did, but it felt, well, hollow. How do you really thank someone for saving your life? I distanced myself from anything reminding me of that time, even Jordan. I did hear from him about a year ago.” He turned from the window to see her looking directly at him. He let out a small laugh. “I'm sorry, I'm sure you don't want a stranger reciting their life story to you.”
“Please, continue,” she replied. “What did he say?”
“Jordan wanted me to join this new company he had gotten involved with, some private security firm that also had an IT division. He explained that he was good friends with the owner of the company. Jordan then offered me a job doing the exact same thing as I was doing in Afghanistan, only stateside.” Aaron cleared his throat. “I'll admit, when he told me the salary, I was tempted. Very tempted. Ultimately, I told him no and that I was teaching high school now. He was persistent, though, and I eventually told him I just wasn't interested in that life, regardless of the salary or locale.”
The red-haired woman sat back in her seat. She seemed to be considering what he had said. “Did he ever call you back?” she asked.
“No,” said Aaron. The two sat in silence as the wheels of the plane touched solid ground, causing the plane to shake. The brakes engaged and Aaron’s body was thrust from the seat, restrained only by his seatbelt. The aircraft slowed and parked in front of the terminal. Aaron uttered a silent prayer.
“My name is August,” the woman said, offering her hand. He gently grasped it.
“Aaron. Aaron Alcott. So, now that you know my life story,” he said, “what were you doing in Indiana?”
“I was there on business.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that. What kind of business are you in?”
“I manage a brokerage company.”
“Well, that sounds interesting,” he replied, trying to disguise how dull that sounded.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for flying Express Airlines. You may now disembark,” the captain stated.
Aaron stood up and stretched his legs. August also stood up and reached for the overhead compartment. She pulled down a small duffle bag and slung it over her shoulder. Putting her hands on the seats on either side of her, she walked toward the door. Aaron reached up, grabbed his small suitcase, and followed her.
They walked together from the plane to the terminal via the air bridge, August gingerly running her hand along the handrail.
“So, how long have you been in that business?” he asked as they made their way into the main terminal.
“I just recently accepted the position,” she replied. She looked toward him, reached into the left side of her blazer, and pulled out a folded white stick. With a gentle flick of her wrist, it extended in front of her.
Taken aback, Aaron recounted her mannerisms from the plane.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
“No, I didn’t realize you were blind.” Why did I say that? he thought.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all! It’s great, you don’t have to see how bad I look today.” Aaron smacked himself on the forehead. A wisp of a smile appeared on her face.
“I heard that.”
Of course you did. “That’s great that you’ve gotten this position!” he said, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. The smile on her face faded. “You don't like the new job?”
“There are a lot more responsibilities with the position.”
“Oh? Like what?”
August let out a small sigh. “It requires me to work with individuals who are very settled in their ways. Even now, I feel I must prove myself to them.”
Aaron looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Did you know about all of this before you took on the job?”
“I did.”
“Then why did you accept it?”
August continued walking through the terminal, her white stick extended in front of her, tapping on the ground. Aaron was pretty sure this was an awkward conversation for her.
“It was an opportunity I could not ignore,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone.
“August, you make it sound as if you had no choice,” he said.
She didn't respond.
The two stepped onto the moving sidewalk. Beige walls and carpets whizzed past them as they headed toward a sign for customs.
They stepped off the moving sidewalk and walked through the carpeted hallway for some time before stepping onto an escalator. Aaron was starting to feel uncomfortable. Had he spoiled the conversation?
“You said you are a high school teacher now?” August asked.
“Yes.”
“That is an interesting career change,” she stated, looking toward Aaron as they both walked forward.
“Yes, it was. The communications company I told you about? It’s my father's company,” Aaron said, now the one speaking matter-of-factly.
“And he had you go to Afghanistan?” she asked with a curious expression.
“My parents always wanted children, but were never able to conceive. So they adopted me. My adoptive mother died shortly after, and my relationship with my father, which was always strained, became much worse,” Aaron replied coldly. August’s warm arm wrapped around his and the tension in his chest faded. “After leaving my father’s company, I decided to do something I’ve always wanted to do: teach. I haven’t spoken with him for almost five years.”
Another escalator appeared before them. To Aaron’s disappointment, August let go of his arm and held onto the bannister. A large sign came into view reading ‘Canada Customs’. The pair walked through a row of open glass doors, where they joined the hundreds of people already standing in almost thirty separate lines.
“I’ll guide you to the shortest line,” said Aaron, and August nodded.
August stood in front of him, her red hair flowing down to the middle of her back. “August, I can't shake this funny feeling that I've met you before,” he said. She turned her head to the right, her hand massaging her left temple.
“Is that what you tell every strange woman you meet on an airplane?” she asked with another half smile. Aaron snorted at this, although he did sense something a little strange or different about her.
“No other women right now,” he replied back, rubbing at the low, dull pain at the back of his head. “Have you ever been to a town named Dalhousie?”
August paused for a moment. “I have a few times,” she replied. “Maybe you have seen me at Alpaca Coffee?”
“The one across from Barbie's Antiques? No, thanks!” Aaron said, wrinkling his nose. “I've never developed a taste for coffee. I think I'm the only one in the country who hasn’t.”
A little girl in line across from them started giggling. “Mommy, he looks the same way you do when you wash Daddy's socks!” she said, looking at her mother and pointing at Aaron. The two older adults, whom Aaron assumed were the girl’s parents, looked at each other, and the mother turned red.
“That's not polite, Maya,” the mother said, scooping up the little girl in her arms.
Out of the mouths of babes, Aaron thought. August nodded, almost imperceptibly. He rubbed at his eyes, taking out his cell phone from his pants pocket. It was now 8:00 pm.
They made their way past customs without issue and walked toward the baggage claims. Large conveyers carried suitcases of almost every shape, size, and color. Aaron looked at the signs above each one for his flight number, but August was already walking past him to the second conveyor from the end. He started jogging toward her to say something when he realized she was standing at the correct one.
“Forgive me if I sound rude, but you are doing an incredible job of navigating your way around here!” he stated, catching up to her. She quickly removed her hand from her head. “Headache?”
She paused and said, “It is loud in here with all of these people. As for my navigating? I pride myself on my independence,” she replied.
“Alright, let's get your bag and get out of here, then. Which one is yours?”
“It is bright red,” she said.
And how would you know that? he thought.
“Or so I am told,” she added.
Aaron nodded, realized she wouldn't see this, and said, “Alright.” A bright red suitcase tottered along the conveyor just after Aaron’s luggage. He reached for both of them, and pulled them off the belt and onto the floor. He looked at the tag attached to the red case.
“Alric and Associates?” he asked, making sure he had grabbed the right suitcase.
“It is mine.”
“The name of your company?”
“It is. Alric was my father.”
A look of understanding filled Aaron's face. “That's why you had to take the position. It's a family business.” August nodded slowly. Aaron grabbed his well-worn suitcase and then said, “Let's get out of here,” pulling the suitcase behind him.
They walked onto the main concourse. Currency-converting kiosks lined the area, along with small shops, coffee bars, and hoards of people. Directly ahead of them was the exit. Taxis, buses, and sedans all vied for space along the busy pickup area. August continued walking straight ahead as Aaron spied a cozy little pub out of the corner of his eye. He gently took August by the elbow. She stopped and turned to him.
“August?” he asked, closing his eyes. “Would you like to have a drink with me?” Aaron opened them to see her head turned toward the direction of the pub; he guessed she was listening to how loud it was.
He now looked at her head on, in a light that didn't cast her in a ghostly pallor. August had her hair brushed back. She had an oval-shaped face with high cheekbones and a soft chin. Her eyes were barely visible behind the dark sunglasses.
“I am going to call it a night. Thank you for the offer, though,” she replied, putting her hand in front of her. He lightly grasped it.
“Thank you for the conversation. Do you think we could get together at some point during my stay here?” he asked.
“We will have to see,” she replied with a smile. He thought he could get used to seeing that smile. “Aaron?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Could I have my hand back?” He looked down and realized, for the second time, he was still holding hers. He let go. She reached into the right side of her blazer and pulled out a small black case, which she flipped open. She removed a business card and handed it to him.
“Alric and Associates,” Aaron read out loud. He pulled out his wallet and slipped it in with the Canadian money.
“Talk to you soon,” she said, an amused expression on her face. She took the handle of her suitcase and wheeled it around behind her as she turned and walked away.
Aaron sighed as he watched her walk further along the concourse. Put me in the middle of a war zone, or in a room of screaming teenagers, and I'm fine. Talk to an attractive woman? Forget it.
He shook his head, turned, and walked toward the main doors of the airport. They parted to reveal a yellow taxi, its driver reading a newspaper. He ambled toward it until he was stopped by a man who appeared to be in his early twenties.
“Looking for a great deal?” said the young stranger. He was wearing a dark professional suit with a name tag that read Comfort Limousine Inc., followed by the name Phillip.
“The guy I was supposed to pick up had his flight cancelled,” Phillip said, cocking a thumb toward the airport. “If you need a ride, I have a sedan that can take you where you want to go.”
Aaron looked past the driver to the shining, black sedan behind him.
“And how much is that going to cost me?” Aaron asked, sizing up the driver. Phillip smiled.
“I'll only charge you as much as these other guys would,” he replied, gesturing toward the small fleet of yellow taxis behind him.
“Sounds like a deal,” Aaron said, handing Phillip his small suitcase.
The driver flashed him a toothy grin and placed it in the trunk of the car. Aaron opened the rear passenger door and slid in.
“Where to?” Phillip asked, settling into the driver's seat.
“The Loyalist Hotel in Hamilton.” Aaron looked out at the airport’s entrance.
“Sounds good!” Phillip said, putting the car into drive. Slowly, they pulled away.